


And memories weigh more than stone...

by ThreeMagpies



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blackout AU, Eventual Smut, Gen, charloe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 20:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12349659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeMagpies/pseuds/ThreeMagpies
Summary: A Revolution fic (Blackout AU): Bass Monroe/Charlie Matheson with mention of regular characters from the show including Miles Matheson and Rachael Matheson. CharloeSummary: A follow on story from an earlier one of mine. Set after Pottsboro, it’s several days since Bass and Charlie became lovers in a hidden place called New Xanadu. They are back on the road to Willoughby and are travelling as fast as they can, conscious of the threat of the Patriots and the constant dangers of the road.  Exhaustion is taking its toll on Bass especially and memories of the past and worries about the future are bringing nightmares. Charlie decides to find a way to help him…





	And memories weigh more than stone...

**Author's Note:**

> Authors note: Thanks so much for having a look at this, hope you enjoy. I was looking at my list of stories on FFN and realised there was an early one I hadn’t posted onto A03, so in the interests of completion (and after a lot of editing lol), here is the first part of that story as a Charloe one shot. Oh, the title is from a poem, ‘The Swan’ by Charles Beaudelaire. Cheers, Magpie

Bass and Charlie had been back on the road now for a few days, avoiding settlements as much as possible, living on what they could gather and catch to pad out what was left of the provisions in the wagon.

With the threat of Patriot patrols, Bounty Hunters and the other dangers of the road, they’d been travelling as far and as fast as they could each day along back roads following rivers and streams, one driving, the other on watch, stopping only to rest the horses, eat a quick meal and take care of the necessities. 

At night they took turns standing watch and exhaustion, stress, lack of sleep and the constant need to be alert were taking their toll.

…………………………

It was Charlie’s turn on watch and she was sitting cross-legged on her rolled out blankets, leaning back against the saddle and cushions that were her pillow, crossbow loaded and ready on her knees and knives laid out within easy reach. It was habit now. She was tired, exhausted, every muscle aching, but her eyes were alert as she scanned the dark woods around their camp. 

A half moon was high in the sky, bright enough for her see what she needed to and she looked up as a convoy of feathery clouds floated by in the deep blue sky, their torn edges lit with mercury silver that slowly changed and faded as each moved past the moon. 

It was a beautiful night, the light breeze cool, scented with green forest smells. 

Leaning forwards she stirred the pot of beans and jerky cooking in the coals of the fire for the morning, careful not to make too much noise, jumping a little as a whippoorwill called out in the trees nearby. She looked around, hand reaching for her bow, alert. One of the horses whickered softly and something small rustled in the undergrowth nearby, but nothing else disturbed the night as the world slowly turned towards dawn. 

Satisfied they were ok, for now anyway, Charlie relaxed a little, breathing in the mixed scents of grass and trees and wild things as well as the familiar aromas of the horses. At least they smelled good. She sniffed her armpit and sighed, remembering the luxury of hot water and an actual bath. There hadn’t been time over the last few days for more than the basics.

She gazed down at Bass, his long, strong body relaxed and stretched out on his bedroll on the other side of her, away from the fire. He’d been sleeping for a couple of hours now. Actually asleep – and she loved that he trusted her enough to do that. That he knew she’d keep watch over him. 

She didn’t think he’d slept properly since they left New Vegas. There’d been the pool but he’d been tied standing up there. Hard to sleep like that. Then he’d followed her to Pottsboro and even before she was over the drugs the creeps had given her in the bar, he’d stayed awake waiting for her to stick a knife in him at any chance she got. She knew that because she hadn’t slept either, and that had been for almost a week. Even for someone like Sebastian Monroe who was one of the most resilient men she had ever met, that was a hard call. 

The trouble was, now that he did sleep, except for that one night they spent in a bed in Xanadu where to be truthful there hadn’t been that much actual sleeping, he dreamed. And his dreams were bad – very bad.

She yawned and got ready, it was almost time.

The first night after their hurried exit from Xanadu, she hadn’t known what to do, how to stop it. 

He’d been sleeping, quiet, deep. Then, startling her into lifting her bow, he’d taken a sharp breath in and it was as though he went somewhere terrible, his eyes wide open, staring, arms tensed against his chest, hands in tight fists. He’d started to make anguished sounds, moans, no words she could make out, his face a mask of sadness, grief…

She’d tried to shake him awake but it was like he couldn’t see or feel her. 

Then one of his hands had found the strip of belly skin between her tank top and jeans and he had suddenly relaxed again, his hand sliding up her side and back under the tank, and he’d gone back to sleep as though nothing was wrong.

The next morning she’d asked him what happened but he didn’t seem to remember dreaming at all…

The second night had been worse. Much worse. 

It had begun the same way but then he’d started flailing about, hitting out at something or someone. Then he’d yelled out and gone rigid. He’d been so still for so long she thought he’d stopped breathing and was just about to do something, anything to try to wake him up. Then it all started again. He was shouting something – words she couldn’t quite make out but he was so loud that she expected Patriots or wolves or something to come running out of the woods. 

That night, remembering how he’d quietened after touching her, she sat down next to him and leaned up close.

When she took his hand, his fingers wrapped around hers so hard she had to hold her breath to keep from crying out, but it quietened him enough that she stopped worrying about them being heard. Then he wouldn’t let her hand go, even in sleep. So she sat next to him, her other hand on her loaded crossbow, tears running down her face unnoticed. 

The next morning he said he could remember that he’d had a bad dream and that it had stopped when he felt her there but he still couldn’t, or wouldn’t tell her what made them so bad. She could take a pretty good guess though. Most people these days had enough bad memories to fill their sleep with nightmares, but Sebastian Monroe had to have more than most. 

The third night she decided to try something different. If it worked it was less of a risk than having him shouting loud enough to bring anyone nearby running. So she waited for the nightmares to start and when she saw his arm move, laid her locked and loaded crossbow down within easy reach then slipped off her shirt and tank and sat close to him where his hands could find her. 

She didn’t want to wake him up, he needed the sleep, hell they both did. She just wanted to try to divert the dream to something better. To warmth and life. To her. 

And it worked, his fingers found the warm smooth flesh at her waist, stroked up and around her swell of her breast above her bra, lingering gently there for a long moment, his palm and fine strong fingers rough on her skin from the long years of handling a sword as well as fighting. Then he’d sighed heavily and his hand dropped, searching and finding hers and he was quiet again.

She cried for him that night too.

The night after that having her in touching distance seemed to help him sleep again. 

But this time she didn’t cry for him, instead she became determined to find a way to help him work through his nightmares and by the time they finished breakfast she’d decided what she needed to do. 

……………………………………..

They were sitting on low improvised chairs made from boxes, bedroll, cushions – set against the side of the wagon) finishing the last of the coffee in the pot before getting ready to head out for the day. 

Bass was gazing off into the distance over the rim of his pre-blackout steel mug, mind still wandering through the harsh remnants of his dreams. The coffee was steaming and hot. No sugar or honey left so it was a little bitter for his taste – but it was very, very good, and he was grateful to have it at all, especially with the addition of a little of their dwindling supplies of bounty hunter whiskey.

He was very aware that his problem sleeping could have something to do with his use and abuse of alcohol. He’d been hitting the bottle hard over the months since the tower, hell, ever since the blackout. But the soldier in him - as well as his vanity, preferred to be in shape, so he’d been working hard on cutting back. Especially now that he wasn’t fighting in Gould’s tent every night to work it off, and even more especially now that he had Charlie with him. She had become his priority, his mission, and he’d make sure she got to Miles and Rachel in one piece if it was the last thing he ever did. 

He still drank a little every day, but so did Charlie – and it did help to make the long stretches of road go by a little faster for both of them. 

He glanced over at her.

She was dozing, head tipped back against a wagon wheel, eyelashes shining gold against circles dark as bruises under her eyes.

He wished he could wipe them away.

She shared his urgency to get to Willoughby fast, to warn Miles and her mom about the Patriots. He knew that, and they’d both been pushing as hard and as fast as they could, too tense, too tired to stop or relax their guard for a moment. She’d even agreed not to go hunting alone, surprising him. So they relied on what they could find and catch along the road, which was just enough with the supplies they had left in the wagon. 

The memory of being somewhere hidden away from all the death and care of the world outside was fading, and regret tore through him again that they’d had to leave. She’d started to trust him there and he’d seen her laugh in a world where every moment didn’t have to be spent fighting or planning to fight - or hurting. Where not everything was about surviving.

He wanted her to be safe. He wanted to see her laugh again. 

He sighed and took another mouthful of coffee. But they were back in the real world now and his nightmares had returned with a vengeance, full of ghosts and horror. The day he found out that his whole family were dead, killed by a drunk driver, or the night of the blackout, when planes fell from the sky and burned like giant torches, setting the city on fire. Or the day he lost Shelley and their baby. Then there was Jeremy, and Emma, and finding out he had a son somewhere who was probably dead too.

So much killing and fighting, so much death and pain and guilt. The tower and Randall Flynn. Philadelphia and Atlanta, burning to ash and gone. And Miles, his brother. Miles. Miles betraying him, trying to kill him, leaving him. 

And now there were new nightmares waiting in the queue. As bad as the others if not worse . The ones where he lost Charlotte. 

And there were so very many ways that he could lose her. 

Sometimes he thought that his memories and dreams would get so heavy he’d sink under the weight. 

But in New Vegas he’d been able to sleep without dreaming if he fought and drank and fucked enough. In New Vegas he’d slept, sometimes anyway. He always knew that couldn’t last though and that there might come a time when the nightmares could drive him right over the edge. 

Some dark, empty part of him had even welcomed the thought of it.

But that was before Charlie.

Charlotte Matheson had turned up out of nowhere like some dirty blond angel falling into that pool and saving him from himself. And her being there meant that there was a way to find Miles. So just like magic he had a mission again, a mission that gave him purpose and a reason to live - and an enemy to fight. The Patriots. The ones who ordered Randall Flynn to drop ICBM’s on Philly and Atlanta and who’d put a bounty not only on him but on Rachael and by implication Charlie, and that he couldn’t let stand.

Over the last few nights, he had found a little hope that there was something more between them than physical attraction. Because when he felt her warm skin on the first night after they left Xanadu, even in his sleep he knew she was there with him and the nightmares had scattered and fled. Then she’d come back on the second night and the one after that and the same thing happened. She’d come back and he’d felt peace wash over him like a sweet breeze for the first time in a long, long time.

But what if she couldn’t cope with the dark weight on his soul? What if it was too much even for her and she left? People he loved had always left him, his family, Shelley, even Miles. 

Charlie had become a part of him, as necessary as breathing, and if she left? He knew that he'd keep on fighting as long as his body could stand up – that was how he was made, but he’d be fighting without a heart or a soul and that was perhaps the most frightening thing of all. There’d be nothing to stop him falling, nothing to stop the monster from taking him over.

He took another long swig of coffee, the whiskey in it fighting with the lump in his throat, the fear in his heart.

‘Bass?’ She glanced at him over her own mug. 

He looked up. She was beautiful, as always, but she looked tired, dusty. Hair a bit stringy and less than its usual golden brown glossiness. A side trip to the river would be good, he could help her wash it maybe? They could make time for that…

‘Bass.’ 

He blinked, damn, he was too tired – spacing out. He yawned and stretched then made himself smile, sitting up a bit straighter. ‘Sorry.’ He shrugged. ‘Thinking too much.’ 

She stood up, drained and rinsed her mug, putting it to drain near their utensils box. It was starting to get warmer so she peeled off her jacket, standing in her tank top and jeans. Then she turned, covered the ground between them in a couple of strides, belt jangling and hair tumbling free, ending up between his knees.

He looked up at her. Her body was curved and delicious rising up between his thighs, her denim covered legs long and lean, the skin of her arms smooth and gleaming in the early morning sunlight and the tantalising strip between her tank and jeans only a breath away from his lips. Her eyes were a shadowy blue against the sky and her hair tumbled down around her shoulders framing the little hollow between her breasts. 

She smiled down at him ‘Hey. You got room for one more down there?’ 

He looked up at her, squinting a little against the light, the rush of eager blood running to his dick almost taking his breath away. ‘Always room for you, Charlotte.’ 

Her smile was suddenly full of mischief, dimple flashing, ‘Good to know.’ She placed her hands on his shoulders and swung her legs to straddle him, wriggling forward until she was sitting snug against his flesh.

Suddenly his morning was looking a whole lot better. 

Bass finished his coffee in one quick swallow and set the mug down, out of long habit scanning the area for sounds, smells, sights that didn’t belong, but finding nothing he wrapped both arms around her in a hug that felt so right and good that his heart seemed to leap into his throat. He sucked in then let out a deep breath and felt some of his tension and tiredness and dark thoughts drift away.

Charlie bent down to meet his waiting lips in a kiss that became a long, dizzying promise and an affirmation. 

She eventually broke away with a slow sigh, her eyes dancing down at him, hands roaming over the broad shoulders and flat planes and ripples of his chest and abs under the thin fabric of his shirt. ’I wish we were somewhere we could do this properly, but I guess this’ll have to do.’ She leaned in close and breathed him in, then pulled back, her eyes twinkling, ‘you smell of sweat, and horse and dust…’ 

He chuckled, the vibration of it rippling through her body, making her squirm ‘So do you, but I’m not complaining.’ His fingers roved over her firm denim clad ass cheeks, thumbs finding and stroking that little bare strip of skin between jeans and top.

She grinned down and circled her hips against the hard bulge of his cock making them both catch their breath. ‘Neither am I,’ and sliding back a little along his thighs, she reached down with a slim hand to undo the buttons of his jeans. 

His eyes followed her strong, tanned fingers as they worked quickly at freeing him, hard and achingly ready, from his denim prison, ‘I’m glad to hear that…’ 

She pushed the fly of his jeans apart, hooking the loose elastic of his underpants under his balls, pushing them proudly up, his cock rearing high above them, pulsing, the heavy, helmeted head bobbing a little. She watched his face, smiling in satisfaction as his blue eyes glazed over, pupils blown, intent on what she was doing. Her thumb and fingers circled his cock, sliding up and down over the velvety hardness with firm strokes, her other hand snaking down and under to gently play with his balls. 

He took a deep jagged breath in, mouth dry with anticipation. ‘Charlie, I’m not sure we should be doing this out in the open, what if…’ 

‘I checked, and I know you checked, I saw you, we’re ok.’ She let go of him, fingers gently slipping over the head of his cock making him jump, the heavy muscles of his thighs tensing under hers. ‘The horses’ll let us know if anyone’s coming, and besides, we’ve seen no sign of anyone else for days.’ She slid forwards a little, rubbing her denim covered pussy against him.

He gasped again and raised his eyes to hers, blues shimmering around pupils pinned small against the morning sun, his gold tipped lashes casting crazy shadows on the classic male beauty of his face.

She held his gaze and leaned back a little, running her hands up over the outside of her tank top one at a time to her shoulders, pushing the straps down so that her breasts spilled over the top of the tank, the nipples rosy, her shoulders framed and caught by the straps. 

He licked his lips. ‘Beautiful.’ then pulled her towards him, catching a rosy bud between his lips and teeth, licking and biting gently, his hands roaming, strong, hard, fingers gripping and stroking over her hips, her sides, one hand tightening the straps around her shoulders from the back pushing her breasts out a little more, the other playing with them before sliding down her belly to the vee of her crotch, his fingers cupping and stroking through her jeans. He slipped the buttons open and worked his hand inside, finding her shamelessly wet curls and folds with his fingers, sliding his middle finger up inside the soft, tight tunnel, his thumb finding her clit, pressing and circling.

Charlie’s back arched and she moaned, letting him mould her like a piece of hot, willing putty. 

He brought his other hand down to her ass, pulling her a little further towards him, licking and nibbling at the soft skin of her throat before pulling his head back so he could look down to where he was playing with her pussy. A light forest of curls a little darker than her hair framed his hand, little, damp strands clinging then pulling free as his fingers moved through her wet folds. He finger fucked her gently as his thumb worked her clit. 

’Bass.’ She was gasping, her thighs and butt tense, thrusting towards him, helpless. 

He pulled fingers and hand away, leaving her rigid and panting with need, her hands falling to his shoulders, hanging on for support. Breath coming faster, harder. 

‘Stand up, Charlotte,’ he ordered, voice low and rasping. 

She stared at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed with excitement, then she did as he said, legs tense and shaking, hands gripping his shoulders, knuckles white. 

He leaned forward to work her jeans down over her ass and hips, down and over her knees to her ankles, her feet ending up trapped together by the thick folds of material. He ran his hands back up her legs, spreading her out and pulling her knees towards him so she sat back with a thump and a startled laugh onto the saddle of his thighs, her legs so wide apart he could see her pussy and clit framed in curls, glistening with her juices. 

She rocked a little, then got her balance, lips curved in one of her wicked smiles, ’you waiting for the next millennium, Bass?’ 

He looked up to where her nipples and breasts jutted out over her bra and the tank, then up further to her gorgeous face, tense with anticipation and lust. He chuckled. ‘I love looking at you, Charlie.’ 

Her fingers tightened harder on the taut muscles of his shoulders, nails digging into the skin ’I’m really, really glad about that, moron, but I want you to fuck me now.’ 

He grinned, teeth flashing. ‘Do you?’ He slid his hands up and around the cheeks of her ass, his forearms framing her hips with hard strength. 

She felt the thick muscles in his arms flexing as he pulled her towards him over his denim covered thighs, the material rough, catching against her skin, and when she looked down she could see herself, legs spread wide, pussy spread open over his thighs and his cock, hard and ready, framed in the soft blue of his jeans, waiting for her. She licked her lips. 

He lifted his eyes, blazing blue, to meet hers. ’Do you want me to fuck you, Charlotte?’ he asked her again, his voice a rough whisper. 

She swallowed hard, eyes wide and glazed, ‘Yeah, God, yes…’ 

He laughed, a wild sound, ‘good.’ He used one booted feet to pull her denim wrapped ankles towards him, lifting her ass at the same time with hands spread, holding her steady over the head of his cock with easy strength, then gently lowering her down until he was far enough in to plunge home with a thrust of his hips, feeling her tight walls spreading out around him like hot, wet heaven. 

She almost came apart at that, her knees giving way, head falling forwards, her hair tumbling over them both. 

Then he showed her just how strong he was, holding her as he thrust into her at a pace that had them both gasping, as he captured her mouth with lips and tongue that demanded everything she had and more, much more…

She hung on to his shoulders as he drove into her over and over, her thighs gripping his, her body shuddering with building sensation until he felt her ripple around him and fall, panting, her head dropping to his shoulder, then he sent a final thrust deep into the tight, slippery warmth of her and felt himself go too.  
………………………………

Sometime later Bass took a deep breath and grinned, feeling better than he had in days. He gently nudged Charlie, who was draped over him, limp and boneless, her eyes closed. ‘Hey, earth to Charlie?’

She lifted her head, her eyes half closed, a dreamy smile curving her lips. ‘Yeah?’ 

He chuckled, ‘Charlie, you’re beautiful and there is nothing I’d love more than to stay like this, but you’re getting heavy and we should probably get going.’ 

She sighed, ‘Yeah, I guess.’ She slid back over his knees, carefully, her feet caught up in denim, hands dropping to his thighs to stop her falling onto him although she was tempted. She took his hands for support to stand up again between his thighs, untangling her feet, her eyes holding his, serious. ’Listen, I know we have to be careful, and I want to get to Willoughby as much as you do. But we’re alive and we both need to remember that too, ok?’

He nodded, weaving his fingers through hers, eyes washed to sparkling sky blue by the sun. ’Yeah…’ He let go and sat back to watch as she bent over to pull her jeans up from around her boots. ‘Damn, you’ve got a beautiful ass, Charlie, shame to cover it up so soon.’ His grin was full of unashamed lust as he reached out and lightly slapped her rear, his fingers lingering on smooth, pale skin of her ass. 

She smirked back at him over her shoulder, ‘It’ll give you something to think about on the road, my butt sitting next to you, only a thin pair of jeans between it and the bench.’ Her eyes gleamed, ‘maybe I’ll give you a peek every few miles, but only if you try not to find every pothole in the road like you did yesterday.’ 

He pulled her back onto his lap and held her there as she laughed up at him with lips full from his kisses and eyes a hazy, lazy blue. ‘That wasn’t my fault.’ He kissed her again, ‘maybe we should complain to the Patriots, they want to run the country, they can fix the damn roads.’ 

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, ‘yeah, we should do that.’ Then she went quiet.

He waited, guessing what was coming. 

She shifted her weight a little, ‘Bass?’ 

He sighed, ‘Yeah? 

She sat up straight so she could see his face. ‘You need to tell me what’s wrong.’

His eyes flinched from hers, ‘what do you mean?’ 

‘The nightmares, are they something to do with me?’ 

He sighed again. ‘You are the best thing to happen to me in a long, long time, Charlotte Matheson,’ his arms tightened around her. ‘But I’ve lost almost everyone and everything I’ve ever cared about, so yes, I have nightmares, about a lot of things, and sometimes I dream about all the ways I could lose you.’ 

She looked into him with sad, wise eyes. ‘I’ve lost people too. But Bass,’ she lifted a hand to his face, stroking his beard then moving to the dusty curls at the back of his neck, ’we’re all probably going to die sometime soon, so what’s the point of worrying about it.’ She shrugged. ’At least we’ll have had something good together, lots of people don’t.’

Bass tilted her chin up and kissed her, ‘you’re right, but I’ve got a hell of a lot of demons, Charlie.’ He sighed, ‘and sometimes I think that I’m not doing you any favours, that you’d be better off with someone who isn’t on the Patriot’s most wanted list, that maybe I should just let you go.’

She held his gaze, her eyes very serious. ‘That isn’t your choice to make.’ 

A shadow crossed his face, ‘Charlie… ‘

‘I mean it, it isn’t just your choice to make, I have a say in it too.’ She cupped his cheek with her hand. ‘You treat me like a real person, a woman. Not a kid, or a responsibility. A real person, and that means a lot. And there’s no one else I want to be with more than you. I think we make a good team, don’t we?’ 

He took a deep breath and let it out. ‘Yeah, we do. But it’s such a big load to lay on you.’ 

She ran her hands over the hard muscled arms holding on to her as though she was the centre of his world. ‘No it isn’t. I’ve got demons too, but maybe you and I don’t have to fight them all on our own any more.’ 

‘I’ve been alone so long, Charlie.’ His voice was low and hesitant, then he pulled her even tighter against him. ‘It’s gonna take a little while for me to get used to believing that I’m not.’ 

It was her turn to take a deep breath. ’I can understand that, Bass, and we’ll work on it, ok?’ She held his eyes with hers, willing him to believe her. ’And just so you know, tonight and every night from now on until the nightmares stop, when I see you start to have a bad dream I’ll make sure that we’re safe, then I’ll come and wrap myself around you and you’ll feel me there, and after that the only dreams you’ll have will be good ones, of me, and only me. Ok?’ 

He looked at her for a long, long moment, his eyes the blue of a summer sky after rain. Then he smiled and it was like the sun came out. ’It’s a whole world better than ok, Charlotte.’

………………………………………..

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Hi, and thanks so much for reading. I felt like working on a romantic Charloe thing for a little while, just because…


End file.
